22. Damon
Damon
The familiar weight of my sketchpad rests on my lap as the pencil moves across the page, the lines coming together without much thought. My earbuds blast Sleep Token into my ears, drowning out the usual noise of campus life.
It’s Monday, which means the quad is busy as hell—students rushing to classes, groups laughing too loudly, and the occasional skateboarder weaving through the crowd like a dumbass. I glance up briefly, scanning the sea of faces out of habit more than anything, and then I see him.
Roman Bishop, my walking contradiction.
He’s across the quad, his dark hoodie pulled up over his head, one strap of his backpack slung lazily over his shoulder. He’s standing near the edge of the walkway, his eyes scanning the area. It takes me a second to realize he’s looking at me before his eyes dart away again.
The logical part of me says to leave it alone. Let him come to me when he’s ready. But the other part, the part that’s had a taste of him and isn’t willing to let it go, decides otherwise.
My lips twitch into a smirk as I watch him. He’s standing there like he’s debating whether to come over or not, his brow furrowed and shoulders tense. For a guy who spent most of high school acting like he ran the place, it’s kind of hilarious seeing him look so… unsure.
Cute.
I let him stew for a few minutes, just to see what he’ll do. When it becomes clear he’s not going to make the first move, I close my sketchpad, pull my earbuds out, toss my shit into my backpack, and brush the dust off my hands as I stand.
Time to give my boy some help.
He doesn’t notice me at first, too busy looking anywhere else but at me, and it only makes the smirk on my face widen. By the time he notices, it’s too late. I’m already crossing the quad, weaving through the crowd like a man on a mission.
Roman’s eyes widen slightly when he sees me heading toward him, and I swear I can see the wheels turning in his head, like he’s trying to figure out whether to bolt or stay put.
He stays, though. Good choice, baby.
When I reach him, I don’t bother with any of the usual pleasantries. Instead, I grab the front of his hoodie, tug him closer, and press my mouth to his in a kiss that’s probably a little too aggressive for being in public.
The crowd around us goes quiet for a second before the murmurs start—gasps, whispers, and a few scattered laughs. But I don’t care, and judging by the way Roman’s hand curls into my shirt, neither does he.
I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, noting his wide eyes and his flushed cheeks. “Good morning,” I say with a smirk.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Damon,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and his cheeks reddening. “What the hell was that?”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, releasing his hoodie and stepping back.
He looks around, his blush deepening when he realizes how many people are staring. “You couldn’t have done that somewhere less… public?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I ask, crossing my arms and tilting my head. “Besides, you’re mine. Let ’em stare.”
His cheeks darken, and I raise an eyebrow. “Are you blushing?”
“No,” he snaps, glaring at me.
I lean in, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You totally are.”
“Fuck off,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it.
I laugh, leaning in just enough to keep him on edge. “Don’t worry, Hotshot. It’s cute.”
Roman groans, his head falling back as he glares at the sky like he’s asking some higher power why they’ve cursed him with me. “You done making me look like an idiot?” he asks, his tone exasperated.
“For now,” I say, slinging an arm around his shoulders and steering him toward the coffee cart near the edge of the quad. “Come on. You look like you need caffeine, and I’m feeling generous.”
He mutters something under his breath, but he doesn’t pull away, which I take as a win. As we walk, I can feel the stares following us, the whispers growing louder, but I don’t give a fuck. Roman’s mine, and if people want to talk, let them.
We get to the coffee cart and Roman shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the next. He keeps his head down, his hoodie pulled up like it’ll somehow shield him from the attention.
“You’re acting like you’ve never been the center of attention before,” I say, nudging him with my elbow.
“Not like this,” he mutters, his jaw tight.
I glance at him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, and the way his hands are shoved so deep in his pockets that it looks like he’s trying to merge with his hoodie. “Relax,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “People’ll forget about it in an hour.”
“Easy for you to say,” he grumbles, but his shoulders relax just a fraction.
I don’t press it, stepping up to the cart and ordering for both of us. Roman’s still too busy trying to disappear into his hoodie to argue, so I take the opportunity to order the strongest coffee they’ve got for him. He’s going to need it.
When I hand him the cup, he mutters a quiet, “Thanks,” before taking a long sip.
We find an empty bench a little farther away from the crowd, and Roman sinks into it. He’s quiet for a minute, his hands wrapped around the coffee cup as he stares at the ground.
“Alright, out with it,” I say, leaning back and stretching my legs out in front of me.
He glances at me, his brow furrowing with confusion. “Out with what?”
“Whatever’s got you looking like someone stole your skates,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
He snorts, but it’s weak. “It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit,” I say, my tone light but firm. “You’ve been looking like a kicked puppy since I kissed you. Spill.”
Roman sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man. It’s just… a lot, you know?”
I tilt my head, waiting for him to continue.
“This,” he says, gesturing vaguely between us. “Us. People staring. The whispers. It’s not exactly subtle, Damon.”
I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee. “So what? Let them stare. Let them talk. Who gives a fuck?”
“I do,” he mutters.
I pause and swallow deeply as I look at how uncomfortable he is. “You embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“What? No!” he says quickly, his eyes snapping to mine. “That’s not what I mean. I just… I’m not used to this. To being… public with anyone. My sexuality isn’t exactly a secret here, you know.”
It clicks then—the weight he’s carrying, the ghosts he’s still running from. Caleb’s shadow looms over him, even now, even here.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Look, I get it. It’s new, it’s messy, and yeah, it’s a lot. But I’m not going anywhere, alright? The whispers don’t bother me, and if you want us to not be public, I’ll respect that.”
Roman looks at me for a long moment, then he shakes his head. “No, I don’t wanna be yours in secret. Just warn me when you’re going to pounce next time, alright?”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” I say as I nudge him with my shoulder.
He huffs out a laugh. “You’re a pain in the ass, Trouble.” It’s not the first time he’s called me Trouble, and I fucking love it.
“And you’re mine, Hotshot,” I say, smirking. His cheeks flush again, and I laugh, leaning back against the bench. “God, you’re fun to mess with.”
“You’re a fucking menace,” he mutters, but there’s a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“That I am, but you’re stuck with me now,” I reply, grinning.
For the first time all morning, Roman doesn’t argue.